The Power of Her
by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse
Summary: A dark Severus. A determined Hermione 7 Chapters - AU SS/HG HEA...Always :) And as ever, Ron-bashing...
1. Chapter 1

No… That couldn't be right.

Hermione frowned at the mouldy parchment, squinting over the stains marring the ancient skin. The smudge of fingers, of ale, of other substances she did not want to think about...all of them hiding the long-faded ink.

But what she thought she'd read _couldn't_ be right.

Everything, from whispers begun in the Second Year to the mortifyingly direct talks from Madam Pomphrey, said that magic was not altered or turned or...or _expanded_ by the act of intercourse. Of union. _Of sex_. It just...wasn't.

Yet...the codex she'd uncovered on a mooching expedition in the attics of Grimmauld Place was saying just that.

That the first chosen partner, the first with whom a witch or wizard found orgasm affected the tone and power of their magic. And each successive...act built on this first..._awakening_.

The _quality_ of her first lover was becoming vital. Fuck. More than fuck. Literally.

Hermione drew a trembling finger across the line of runes that glowed over the parchment. Each one was true and working. It was a translation spell wrested from Madam Pince herself and it had never failed her before.

She sank back against the beam that stretched up into the shadowed blackness of the second attic and a thin veil of grey dust puffed and drifted down. Motes caught in the soft blue flames flickering in conjured jars. A whisper of a spell cleared the air and Hermione closed her eyes. Her world had turned in the chilled silence of the drafty attic. If...if this were true then it changed...everything. _Everything_.

Her belly soured. Had something in her magic pulled her towards the mess of trunks stacked in a dark attic corner? She had no truck with divination, but the need to hide herself away in the cramped space —alone— had been an itch under her skin for days. Weeks…

Hermione pulled in a tight breath.

An itch there ever since Ron had begun pushing to take their battle-fuelled kiss...further.

The war was over. Voldemort had been a lump of decaying flesh pushed through the veil, the bodies of his Death Eaters following him into that void. They had won and they were free. Free to live life how they pleased. And it was pleasing Ronald Weasley to try every method he knew to get into her knickers.

She snorted. _Every_ method.

Romance in the form of flowers and chocolates and 'kissing books' as he'd called them with a smirk and a hint that they should follow their example. Oh, Ron… She wondered if he'd flicked through the pages and what he'd read, because her experience was —she was sure— _vastly_ different from his.

They were wizarding romances...with a magic that tailored the story to the reader. Ron had not come off well compared to the dark and powerful wizard that had swept in to bring pleasure to a bright and inquisitive young witch more than ready to explore her freed sexuality.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. The shadow of that impossible hero had chased into her dreams. Brilliant and powerful and wanting a clever but oh-so-plain heroine? How likely was that?

When the books obviously didn't work —not that she'd shared their content with him— then Ron dragged in their friends. A persistent Ginny, smug at catching Harry. Harry himself, his face beetroot as he tried to press Ron's case for sex. Molly stuck them together every chance she could. Arthur scuttled from any room they entered to give them...privacy.

It was bloody _relentless_.

And the itch was there, that he had a plan, a plan that involved a meeting of the Order in a few day's time. Something he planned to ask her…

A twitch and a shiver pushed over her skin. No. Perhaps it hadn't been this book. Perhaps her magic had simply screamed for some time away by herself, without the manipulation of presents or people. Or dangerous and unwanted questions. And their answers.

But she _had_ found it. A book that changed everything. An ancient —8th century Byzantine— codex filled with the lost knowledge that first pleasures shadowed or brightened the magical core. It was inflammatory stuff. It ignored blood in favour of ability and power —an anathema to purebloods. Though it slighted the less magically able, those who would be ignored, no matter how pleasant or kind or honourable or —or skilled in the art of sex, in favour of a powerful —but wicked— wizard.

Hermione's face grew hot. All her thoughts had been spiralling into _him_ since she cracked open the first of Ron's books. The spells caught within the pages had dragged her own forbidden wants to the surface. A dark and wicked and powerful wizard? Yes, there was one, wasn't there?

_Severus Snape_.

She closed her eyes and winced. Guilt collided with the want that tightened her belly. It was so very wrong for her to ache for him. But she did. Had. For too long. Since that long-limbed stalk across the duelling strip in the Second Year, something about him had...stirred her.

Initially, Hermione had thought it was anger at his shaming of Lockhart. And well, she tried not to think about her shallow crush when the too-pretty wizard turned out to be an absolute fraud. But her...unease over Professor Snape had bubbled under the surface for years after.

She finally admitted her...interest in him when finding the proof that he was a soldier for the Light made up one of her patronus memories. A schoolgirl crush that would not fade.

And now...this.

Hermione drew in a long breath as she stared down at the flickering page.

If...if she found her _first pleasures_ with Ron, who would she become? He was clever and brave and funny...but had to be nagged into completing necessary things. Was petty. Could hold a grudge almost as well as his mother. And his magic, his magic was…mediocre.

Oh, she knew she was no catch. Bossy and plain and quite often overbearing and picky. But this wasn't about her faults. Well, it was. In a way. How would she change and who would she become with Ron? More easy going, perhaps? But her magic? Gods, her magic touched by his would _dim_.

Her heart squeezed. Her own magic had been screaming that at her for weeks. It was a horrible thought. Horrible. But true.

Not that Severus Snape would offer her an improved personality. Sharp and brittle man that he was. But his magic. Merlin, his magic was a thing of rare beauty. She'd overheard drunken speculation by Remus and Kingsley only a few nights before that Snape was now very probably the most powerful wizard in the British Isles. And he wasn't even forty.

How would her own magic bloom under his touch?

She closed her eyes and the tight pain in her chest sharpened. It was moot. How likely was it that Severus Snape would agree to making...to having sex with her? Her of all people. Witches. Whatever…

Not likely at all.

Fuck.

She stared at the page again, the sour need of her own ambitions there in her belly. She wanted to be the best. To be…extraordinary. Not —gods— not mediocre. Not some witch sucked into the maw of the Ministry and becoming grey and bland and…and _ordinary_. A soulless witch. Settled and dull. It was no false modesty to admit that she was bloody clever and that magic fell to her well and easy. She could not sacrifice that gift to a no doubt unsatisfying fumble with Ron. Added was the fact that she knew that she couldn't fall into a relationship with him. He wanted a mother, someone to coddle and nag him. She…

She wanted the wizard from those bloody books. Dark and powerful, wicked and sensual.

The runes shifted and a single word jumped out at her.

_Exchange._

Hermione blinked. Exchange. Yes, the more experienced witch or wizard opened a virgin's magical powers…but there was a trade. The gift, the…_shine_, for want of a better word. A wry smile pulled at her mouth. A honing and polishing of the other witch or wizard's own talents.

She stilled. _Severus Snape was the most powerful wizard in the British Isles and not yet forty_. Great Merlin, did he already _know_ this secret? Had he gifted himself and been similarly gifted by others?

Her heart thumped, a hard pulse in her chest and Hermione pressed her fist to her ribs. If he knew. If he was already…_practising_. Gods, _gods_. She had a chance. Before the meeting. Before she _finally_ had to deal with Ron...

In a flurry of limbs and magic, the book was stowed away and warded to within an inch of its life. No one would find it again but her. She scrambled out of the attic and dashed to her rooms. Yes, she was going to pull up the ladder and tell no one of her discovery. No one but Snape. She'd always been ambitious._ Plain but ambitious._ Skeeter's words did describe her perfectly. Why sacrifice her newly found advantage?

And well, she didn't want the competition for a certain dark potions master.

* * *

This will be complete in 4 chapters. Just finishing the fourth now.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione stood at the stained glass door of Snape's new home.

He'd sold Spinner's End and escaped into the wilds of Cumbria, to a sprawling, pale-bricked house built by a Victorian tea merchant. Yes, she'd been nosy…and well, money stretched well in the far north west of England. He'd put his award from his Order of Merlin, First Class to good use.

Pulling in her courage, she rang the bell and the distant jangling sound chased the knots in her belly.

She counted her heart beats, reaching twenty five before there was the creak of an inner door. Wards chased around the seams of the outer door and she stopped herself from twisting her hands together. A direct question. He could say yes or no and then she could run away and die of mortification. And her list of eligible wizards with whom she could sleep would come into play. The sourness of that thought raced through her. Damn it, she wanted _this_ wizard.

And…there he stood. Tall and broad shouldered and dressed in full black from head to toe. His hair was a loose and shining black curtain, curling against his shoulders. He was as pale as ever, but it was a smooth, alabaster sheen rather than something sallow and sickly. Black eyes found her.

"Miss Granger."

His voice curled around her name, dark and sure. And, oh gods, he _had_ to say yes to her offer.

"Sir, I have a proposition for you."

"Do you?"

She jerked a nod. He was not inviting her in. That was fine. There was no one around to overhear her conversation…and it would make for a quicker get away. Just a run down the steps, over the sweep of the long drive…and away in a flick of magic

Hermione lifted her shoulders. In for a penny… "I _believe_ that you know the gift a virgin can bestow."

A black eyebrow arched and there was a definite shine to his endless eyes. He knew. He _definitely_ knew. "And what gift would that be, Miss Granger?" His gaze slid over her, cool and assessing. "And I would have thought that a certain Weasley would have chased that…gift."

"Chased but not caught."

His firm lips twitched up at the corner. "Indeed."

He hadn't kicked her off his property. There was hope. She clung to it. "I propose an…exchange. You relieve me of my virginity and your nature, your strong magical core, opens up the power of my own magic. Said act then adds a shine, hones your magic in return." Her heart was pounding and she was certain her face was quite red.

"And you would choose _me_ for this honour?"

He leant against the door frame, his arms crossed, indolent and so effortlessly sexy her mouth was drying. She'd caught snatches of this man, this wizard down through the years. She thought, well, she thought she'd been mad to have a crush on the man. But…had he always been this way? Had it hidden away as he played the part of their hated professor? Was _this_ truly Severus Snape?

"You are an incredibly powerful wizard, sir. And —as you obviously know— the more powerful the wizard as a virgin's first…_lover_," she stumbled over the word, feeling stupid and gauche, "the more my magic will evolve." She pulled in a breath. "I think _you_ followed this path, sir."

"Did I?"

It was a dark rumble and he narrowed his eyes on her.

"Where did you..stumble across this information, Miss Granger?"

"A…a book. A Byzantine codex in Grimmauld Place."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze simply _fixed_ on her. An endless black that revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

"What is your experience?"

She blinked. Was he…was he considering…? Was he…_agreeing_? Gods…gods. "Umm, I…"

She was discussing her sexual history —or lack thereof— on his doorstep. It was mortifying. But she could hardly ask to go inside and sit and be comfortable. That would be more strange. This was a transaction. An exchange. Nothing more. Nothing.

"I have kissed to boys. Two wizards."

And wasn't that woeful for a young woman of nineteen?

"Krum and Weasley Six?"

"Weasley…" She pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop a burst of strained laughter escaping. She nodded. "Yes."

"Just kisses? How aroused were you? How aroused were they?"

Oh great Merlin and all his devil friends. What did this have to do with him having sex with her?

"With every touch, magic flows between us."

He unfolded his arms with slow grace and reached out a hand. One long finger traced along her jaw, from the hinge to point of her chin. A glide of air, of sensation, of warmth and the tingle of…something chasing deep, deep into her flesh. Her lips parted and she stared up at him, her heart a flurry of wild beats and the beginning of an old ache there in her belly.

"You feel that. The opening of magic, one to the other. Now think back. With those _boys_…"

"Nothing. Nothing like _that_."

Heat flooded her face at that admission. But it was true. Kissing Victor and Ron had been…nice. Sort of. Perhaps. Mainly it'd wet and _handsy_. Her thoughts were racing. How could it be a secret? This sharing of powers, when a simple touch from him had…bloomed within her.

"Why? Why do people say it doesn't matter, when you just…and I just…"

His lips quirked up, a dark and delicious smile that snatched at those reawakened aches. "Most magical beings are average, Miss Granger. Bland. They can hardly feel the course of their magic in their flesh. This…exchange is meant only for a witch or wizard of unique magical strength." His black eyes gleamed. "Why else would the book seek you out?"

"Seek…seek me out?"

"Indeed," he stepped aside and waved her into his light-filled hall. "The book found me at seventeen."

"Found…?"

"Come inside." His large hand was at her spine, the heat of his fingertips burning through the thin cotton of her shirt. His mouth dipped to her ear and a shiver raced over her skin. "I believe there is much we need to discuss…_Hermione_."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 4 became Chapter 5...and now needs Chapter 6 too. Confused? Try being me... ;-)

* * *

Hermione knotted her fingers, her belly a riot of wild pixies. Severus opened the first door on a long, bright hallway to a drawing room, all pale silks and golden sunlight and a large ornate fireplace. A pot of floo powder sat high on the broad mantle. So he was still connected to the wizarding world…

Snape —Severus, surely? Since they'd be, well, getting _naked_ very, _very_ soon— closed the door, the click of the catch skittering across her nerves. Hermione willed herself to breathe. Her pulse drummed. Would he simply...pounce? Take her on the rug before the fireplace? And why —why?— did her heart give a hard and delicious squeeze at that thought?

Severus' lip curled up at the corner and the long, golden light cutting in through the tall window lit his dark eyes. A wicked gleam that did little to loosen the tightness of her flesh. "Eager…?"

Her face burned. Was...was he pressing into her thoughts?

"I am simply...observant."

How…?

The twist of this lip deepened into a smirk. _Git_. He was a git. But then she knew that...and some insane part of her _liked_ him that way.

Hermione closed her eyes and wrapped her courage around herself. She would not be a grey witch, a ministry slave, dried up and mediocre. Fuck, she wanted to _run_ the Ministry! _He_ would give her that. She opened his eyes and held Severus' black gaze. "How...how do we go about this?"

"In the usual way." He waved for her to sit on the deep cushions of a couch as he sat opposite to her in a wingback chair —all suave elegance with his steepled fingers pressed to the line of his lips. "There is no arcane ritual. No magical blades, potions or spells. No blood letting. Well…" His eyebrow lifted. "That does rather depend on how..._intact_ you are, doesn't it?"

Hermione's face was boiling. Could she possibly be as red as she felt? From _Severus'_ continued smirk? Very probably. He was enjoying her embarrassment. _Utter_ git. But it was a question that needed an answer. She hadn't...explored herself. Not with the _thoroughness_ required to be certain. It hadn't helped that this wizard had pushed into her thoughts whenever her fingers had slipped into her knickers… And, well, the belief that she should fantasise about _nice boys_ made her reluctant to experiment at all.

But… "I have ridden thestrals. A hippogriff. Oh, and a dragon. I imagine that's the equivalent of horses for a muggle girl."

"And you derived the same...pleasure?"

"What? No!" Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth and breathed against her palm. Another fair question...but… They'd been mad moments. Filled with adrenaline and fear and spells and...and in the case of the dragon, chunks of Gringotts' falling masonry.

"Nothing ever for yourself, Hermione."

It was a statement. Low and strangely soft and it pricked tears against her eyes. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Her emotions were running riot, caught in the panic and nerves of knowing that Severus Snape would be her first lover. But it was a transaction. Nothing more. For the pleasure of her virginity, his own immense powers would shine brighter.

She pulled her mind back, wanting to focus on the academic. Her safe place. "How did this book find me? You? Anyone? A measure of power? Or of potential power?"

Something glinted in his eyes, something that said he was well aware that her pushing questions at him was her way of coping. Yes, he was an observant wizard.

"Lord Slytherin, an Earl of Bernicia and Salazar's grandfather, brought the codex back from the Library of Constantinople in 812. Whether it taken with the consent of the Magi, I can't say. I very much doubt it. The Earl was notoriously...light fingered."

Severus tilted his head and that smirk was back. Yes, her jaw had almost dropped that a Slytherin uncovered the codex. But should she have been at all surprised? Power was catnip to his House.

"He chose to...shine his magic and lived till almost two hundred. An impossible age in Saxon England. Salazar inherited the codex. And set it on its current course. To seek out the powerful."

A single thought pinched at her brain and she winced. Of who else could've been gifted with the book's insight. "Dumbledore? Tom Riddle?"

Severus shrugged, but there was a reluctant twist to his features. "Perhaps? I don't know."

"Who…?"

Her question tailed off. It hardly felt right to ask who had first opened Severus to his power.

"Perenelle Flamel." His laughter was soft and dark over her gasp. "Shocked _again_, Hermione?"

She stared at him. Perenelle had been over six hundred years old when she slept with him. _Six hundred_. Gods… "Yes." The word was almost strangled. "Yes. Very."

"If it eases the images in your mind, she appeared to me as a witch in her prime. Quite beautiful. Her own…mentor was Roger Bacon. He was over a hundred and not very strict to his vows." His eyes shone with devilment. "See, how fortunate you are that I am only _nineteen_ years older than you?"

Hermione simply stared at him. "Who…who was his…?"

"Perenelle said he was favoured by Gervase of Canterbury. Their vows…" His gaze darkened, grew distant and his lips thinned. "Perenelle was a very wise woman. With advice I _should_ have heeded." He drew in a long breath and his gaze found her again. The dark light was back, the sour memory seemingly banished. The corner of his lip quirked upwards. "But that is...ancient history.

"This moment…" He rose, smooth and elegant and —gods help her— more apex predator than man. Powerful. Deadly. And with _her_ in his sights. "This sunlit afternoon will be our focus."

He took one of her hands, forcing her to unknot her fingers, and drew her to her feet. He really was _impossibly_ tall. His thumb carressed the peaks and valleys of her knuckles, the touch light, but slow and...and tormenting. A shiver chased across her skin and the swell of magic was a hot, fresh pulse through her flesh. Damn the man. Yet...this was what she was in his house for. For this first pleasure.

"Tell me, have these," he drew his own fingers under the length of hers in a deliberate tease, "brought you to...orgasm?"

His rich, dark voice curled around that word, igniting the forbidden hints that had plagued her for years. Of wanting him, of pulling the illicit idea of him to drive her fantasies. Mute, she shook her head.

"You surprise me again, Hermione. You were always such a...diligent student. How have you neglected a thorough pursuit of your own body's pleasure?"

He knew the power of his voice. He had to. And the roll of it, soft and wickedly decadent as he asked her that? He was the very devil. The devil she wanted. But...she couldn't admit that thoughts of him had stopped her hand. Quite literally. She couldn't expose that need. Not now. Not when it was a simple exchange. This was not the start of a relationship. She almost huffed a laugh at the very idea of it.

"It...was never a priority. There was always something else, some impending disaster that dragged at my brain. Had me scouring books and scrolls, till I slumped over them." A partial truth. "And the only spark of interest for me was Ron."

"I can see how that would cool _anyone's_ ardour."

She frowned at him and he gave her his patented smirk. Severus drew his thumb under the tightened line of her mouth and it shocked a gasp from her. The sweet rush of awakening magic caught her again and his smile deepened.

"Our reward," he murmured, the words a velvet rumble over her scattering senses. "The power of our magic seeking one considered...worthy of our own talent and strength. It pleases me that you have not wasted yourself on a Weasley."

"Could you be more condescending?"

"Sweet girl, you _know_ I could."

A splutter of laughter broke from her and the twist of affection tightened around her heart. Warm, but pained.

He tilted her chin and his lips ghosted over hers, a brush of sweet air that drummed her heart and snapped a jelly-legs hex on her. Breathing. Breathing was overrated. Even as her eyes fluttered shut and she ached for the first touch of his lips against hers. Magic chased and swirled through her veins, bright and hot, and fierce, so fierce… Gods was this who she would be? This wildly powerful witch? Opened to her powers by a wizard who had his own magic awakened by a centuries' old witch—

"Pleasure, Hermione." His delicious voice broke her thoughts. Decadent. Hot. Wanted… "Only pleasure, no other thought." His lips brushed hers and her chest bloomed, the fire of her need thick and wild. Her fingers curled tight into his hand and she fought to stay upright. Impossible. So impossible to...to _ache_ from so light a touch. Impossible…

A butterfly kiss to her jaw. And another. Till his smooth lips brushed the shell of her ear, his breath hot and chasing fresh shivers over her skin. "I will taste you. Every sweet inch."

His large hand slid over her shoulder to slip down over her waist, drawing her to the hard length of his body. She squeaked, her free hand grasping at his shirt and finding it warmed by his flesh. The scent of him overwhelmed her. Cedar and sandalwood and under it something more, something elusive that pricked at her dissolving thoughts. Something she should _know_…

"Did you imagine it, Hermione? Your wicked professor...debauching you? Licking and sucking and biting. Of him spreading you out across his bed, parting your lovely thighs to lick and bite his way over your flesh. And oh…"

His sigh, dark and wicked, chased after the tightening low in her belly. The push of magic and want. She couldn't...she couldn't come just from his voice. She couldn't…

"What's this? A pretty and untouched pussy. Sweet and wet. Is it for me, Hermione? Just me?"

She clutched at his shirt, her chest tight, her open mouth pressed to him, panting, trying to breathe through the rise of pleasure, her thoughts scattering. Gods, she was lost to the image of her spread and naked under the golden light of the afternoon sun and simply a feast for him. Only him. "Yes...yes, sir."

He hummed, his long fingers tightening on her backside, rocking her and pressing her hard to his body. To the thick line of his...his erection. Fuck..._fuck_. He was big. And she would, she would… Gods. Just—

"My _good_ girl."

Hermione's brain stuttered. Broke. That was… That… Gods..._yes._

A shock of wild pleasure and fierce, _fierce_ magic smashed over her. She gasped, caught by it, the flare of it in her flesh, the sudden rush over her thoughts in a golden fire. She shook. Her hands twitched. And only Severus' strong hands held her up, held her to him as he hummed against the shell of ear, wickedly thickening the little aftershocks of her release.

She slumped, letting him hold her, trusting him not to allow her to drop to the floor. "I can't believe that only...only your words…" She swallowed, her mouth dry from the gasps and pants he had wrung from her with such mortifying ease. "Your…"

"I am very aware of the effect of my voice, Hermione. I am not handsome-"

Her head snapped back to stare up at him. "Yes, yes you are." Her face grew hot. Her thoughts were still scattered and wild after her unexpected orgasm. She couldn't...she couldn't reveal her need, her ache for more than this wizard could or would give her.

His smile was unexpectedly soft and it warmed her. "I am a realist. I'm not handsome, but," his black eyes shone, "I am clever and observant, meticulous and dedicated and quite, _quite_ wicked."

Her addled thoughts caromed through her brain. This wasn't the end was it? They would…wouldn't they? But...but she _had_ found her first pleasure with a powerful wizard.

"Witch, my bed _still_ awaits you."

"Oh, yes, please."

His quiet laughter surrounded her and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. The affection of it caught her breath and her heart. Damn him. She couldn't fall for this wizard. She couldn't. An exchange of powers. It was only that.

And she had to remember that as Severus drew back, pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles and led her to up his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Gods..._gods_.

Hermione stared up, her lips parted in shock, at the dark wizard above her. _In her._

She panted, her heart a drum, the push of him into her body so strange and full, and Merlin help her, so _right_. He was naked against her, acres of hot and delicious skin that she wanted to clutch to her...but her hands fisted in the bedsheets. An exchange. Nothing more. And it was breaking her heart…

"Breathe slow. That's it." The endless black of his gaze held her. "No rush, lovely girl. I'm here for your pleasure."

Her eyelids fluttered at his words. He couldn't say such things… And his smooth voice was a low and quiet rumble that chased through her flesh, catching the sparks of recent orgasms. Plural. Merlin, he'd wrung them from her with such mortifying ease.

Severus swept back sweaty curls from her cheek and temple, his gaze filled with addictive black fire. She mewled at the touch, and her need betrayed her, as she pushed into his hand seeking more oh him. "Sweet witch." And a quirk of a smile tugged at lips she had, well, she'd tried to devour.

Hermione had to pull away from her impossible want. "How...many…?" Her words dried. She couldn't ask it. How many had he taken like this. Her heart squeezed in raw pain. Merlin, did she _know _any them?

"A gentleman never tells."

She huffed a laugh and her breathe caught at the shift, the pulse of pain and pleasure that suffused her body. Severus' hips rolled against her and the swift joy of it swept a fierce pulse of golden magic through her veins, her bones and...fuck, her hair, her sweat-tangled hair _writhed_ against the pillows. Her magic. Her magic was flaring, growing, fucking _hot_ in its intensity...

"You...you are no gentleman."

"You're quite right." His smirk deepened. "I am decidedly _not_."

He eased her hands free of the sheets, pulled them above her head and threaded his long fingers through hers, pinning her. He loomed over her, the change in angle doing, fuck, fuck..._wonderful_ things. Her body shook, twitched, her calves wrapping around the strength of his taut thighs. Her toes curled. She fought to breathe, to keep her eyes open to stare into the black depths of his eyes, to hold him in this moment. Wanting him. Wanting all of this fucking wonderfully fearsome wizard.

He dipped his head to brush his perfect lips against her ear. Hot breath pricked her and his voice was a wicked magic all of its own. "No, I am the bastard Severus Snape. A fully dark wizard buried balls deep in the most _delicious_ of little witches."

He drew back and his grin was shark-bright.

Merlin, he was _beautiful…_

"Shall I fuck you now, Hermione?"

A dark heat thickened in her flesh at his unexpectedly raw words, the flare of her magic twisting and fierce in her straining body. "Yes, Severus. Gods, _yes_." She arched into him, taking him deeper and he hissed. And fuck, it was _fantastic_ to drag that need from him.

"Merlin, girl…"

"_Not_ a girl."

"No, gods, no you're not." Eyes filled with black fire speared her, Severus' body taut and hard, the strain of his desire there in the harsh lines of his so-wanted face. "Ready, witch?"

"Just fuck me."

Severus growled, actually growled, and thrust his hips, driving his cock into her willing flesh.

Hermione cried out, arching into him, her fingers crushing his as the riot of pleasure and magic in her flesh surged. More. She needed more. She hooked her leg over his _perfect_ backside and urged him on. "Again. Harder."

"Demanding little shrew."

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

Severus' grin was feral as he stroked forward...and did _something —_a twist, a turn, Merlin, _something— _that sparked fire through every inch of her, forcing a run of surprised curses to break free.

"Such _language_, Miss Granger."

Light danced at the edge of her vision, the sudden and swift promise of an orgasm tight in her flesh. Fuck, that was wrong, so wrong...and naughty...and just _delicious_, to _want_ him to call her that as he fucked her.

His mouth found her ear, the length of his body hot and wanted against her straining flesh, fucking her, hard and so very, _very_ thoroughly… "_Miss Granger..._"

Hermione mewled, clutching at him, the forbidden pleasures chasing through her belly, driving her to meet his fierce thrusts. His own tightened breaths were a form of a bliss. To know that she had that effect, pushing such pleasure through him. And the wild thrum of her magic wrapped around her, threaded over every nerve, charging her joy, promising, _promising_—

"Come for me, my _wicked_ girl."

Hermione's whole world exploded in screaming hot light as her orgasm smashed over her. Somewhere, somewhere in that maelstrom, Severus' roar of pleasure chased after her own. And she was kissing him, lost to the perfection of his mouth as she came down from the wild rush of shared joy.

A blurry moment later and Severus was on his back with her tucked to his side. Another form of bliss. Utter bliss…

Hermione curled around him. Sated. And delightfully achy. Yes, he got the full-on Hermione's Snare, her palm over the slowing drum of his heart, her leg wrapped between his, the sweaty, naked length of her pressed from his chest to his hip. Her fingers teased through his damp chest hair and she closed her eyes.

She couldn't think about the future, about crawling out of his bed, dressing and disapparating back to the grim dank darkness of Grimmauld Place. This time. She had to store every moment. His heat. His scent, a lingering sandalwood and something else, something that still pricked at her memory. Oh, and the new and adored scent of sex with Severus Snape. The lift and fall of his chest under her palm. His strong arm wrapped around her, over her waist with his long fingers splayed over her belly. The brush of his cool hair against her temple.

"Your magic is changed, Hermione."

His voice rumbled under her ear and she committed that to her memory too, her chest burning with the need to remember _everything_ about him.

She willed herself to look up, to place her chin on firm muscle and meet his gaze with a smirk of her own. Presenting the idea of the fierce new witch she was now supposed to be. Her magic _had_ changed. Grown. Evolved. The smooth burn of it was a golden fire in her veins. A deep pulse of thick magic. "How was it for you? After…" She held back a wince, not wanting his first —or other lovers— shoved in her face. But it was a question a non-clingy witch would ask. So she had. However, much it pained her.

Severus teased the tangle of her hair from her face and tendrils threaded through his long fingers, wrapping around and chasing down to his wrist. "Your hair is...sentient."

Hermione's face grew hot. Her hair obviously wanted him as much as the rest of her. She willed it free. "I am finally the full Medusa."

"A fearsome witch, empowered by the goddess to petrify men?" He smirked at her. "Use your new powers...wisely."

Laughter broke from her. Merlin, she _liked_ this true version of Severus Snape. "I promise."

"But your magic. You'll notice it bloom. Spells and potions, your execution and understanding of them and all aspects of magic itself will suddenly become...more clear. Sharper. Obvious." His gaze was soft and it wrapped a painful warmth around her heart. "You'll have a number of 'Merlin, _of course_!' epiphanies. Quite a few, in fact."

"And your magic now?"

Gods, she wanted to know she'd left her mark on this wizard. Fuck… That was… She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his chest again, the strong and even thud of his heart under her ear. She willed it to soothe her, even as guilt tugged at her for that thought. The grey stain of his _last_ mark was still on the arm wrapped around her waist.

"There's a brilliance to it." Severus' voice was soft, reflective and there was a hint of awe. "I was —am— a very powerful wizard—"

"So modest…"

His laughter twitched a smile and she pressed herself tighter to him. "I am _not_ modest. But your shine to my magic, Hermione. It's...wondrous." He tilted her face up to him again. "Beautiful." He pressed the softest of kisses to her forehead and curling tendrils of her hair chased over his hand to cling to his wrist. "Your Medusa-hair wants me again." He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes bright with...with desire. "Do _you_, Hermione?"

"Gods, yes."

And her mouth took his.

* * *

The summer afternoon slipped away. A golden moment of pleasure, a pleasure she thought she'd never have.

Severus Snape had been perfect.

But the exchange was over. Finished. Done.

It was time to go.

And her heart, her heart...cracked.


	5. Chapter 5

Two chapters to go

* * *

Hermione swept a decreasing spell over her dress and the smooth warmth of the refreshed cotton fell against her legs. Was that easier? It seemed...but she couldn't concentrate on what Severus had given her—

She breathed. In and out. Focused only on that, because the roiling pain of her time with him being done, _finished_ churned in her belly and threatened to riot over her.

She'd escaped to Severus' _en suite_ with her bundle of clothes and fell back against the shut door. Cleaning charms applied, she slipped into her knickers and pulled on her bra. Her dress followed. And now she stood before a gleaming white sink. Fading sunlight was a glow of colour through the long stained glass window. Blues and reds and golds limned her reflection in the mirror set above the sink.

Did she look different? An awakened witch?

_Hardly_.

Her hair was a tangled mess of curls, her cheeks and neck and...and chest a rough and mottled red, and her lips…

Hermione traced a light finger over her kiss-swollen mouth and the light scent of Severus filled her. She swallowed, the pain in her throat tight and sudden.

It was over. Finished with. Done.

Then why did her escape from him feel as if she were tearing her magic in two?

Was that a part of the power invoked by the Earl's codex? Severus didn't seen to be pining for Perenelle Flamel, but then his heart had long been caught by another witch…

Hermione dragged a hand over eyes and groaned. She slumped forward, turned on the tap and splashed water on her face. The cool rush was another distraction.

It was time to go. She couldn't hide in his bathroom forever. She glanced around and huffed a half-laugh. Though it was a very _nice_ bathroom.

Hermione sucked in breath and straightened her shoulders. She would be the non-clingy witch and when she got back to Grimmauld Place, she'd devour that bloody codex from cover to cover. Merlin, she's acted more like Harry, hadn't she? Haring off without all the facts.

But then, the chance to have this wizard for herself. It had been a prize and utter temptation.

Said tempting wizard was buttoning up a fresh shirt as she opened the bathroom door. His hair was a curtain of black silk and the golden light on his pale skin...mesmerised her. Her mouth and fingers had trailed and savoured that chest… Severus Snape was tall and lithe and, gods, she could almost taste the power of him. His magic, burning on the very edges of his body—

"Yes, Hermione?"

Black eyes speared her and his mouth had curled into that dangerous little smirk that tightened her flesh in —now— all the _wrong_ places.

She opened her mouth...and words fled. What could she say?

_Thank you? Thank you and I had a lovely afternoon? A marvellous afternoon? We must do this again sometime. Lots of times? Forever. And start now. Take me to bed, Severus. Keep me here. Don't...don't let me go… Please?_

Her throat grew tight and her eyes burned. Fuck. She pressed her lips together and willed herself not to cry.

"Here." He lifted his hand and silently, wandlessly summoned a small vial. "For those deflowering aches and pains."

A bark of sharp laughter broke from her, but she bit the inside of his cheek as his fingers brushed against hers in handing over the potion. Her magic swirled, thickened and the ache for it to rise, to find his magic and wrap around him made her heart pound. "Thank you." It was dry, half-strangled and she cleared her throat, before taking the potion. It eased through her, formed under his hand and by his magic and it was a torment. She vanished the vial. "Will...will you be at the Order meeting?"

Gods, she wanted him to say yes. Perhaps, he would miss her? Or she could simply make a complete fool of herself and fling herself at him?

Those all-seeing eyes fixed on her. "I couldn't get a reason out of Minerva why we _should_ gather."

And she wouldn't tell him it was likely that Ron was going to make an idiot of himself and propose. She didn't want him to intrude on any of her final moments with Severus. But Merlin, maybe idiocy was catching? "I'll be there for the food, then escape to the library."

His head tilted. "I see."

Hermione held back a frown. _What?_ What did he see?

Severus stepped back and her magic strained to follow him, her wild hair a shifting cloud. His gaze flicked over its writhing mass as she tried to pull it into some kind of order. She wanted to believe it was a little bit of affection in the endless dark. Needed to. And gods, _what_ did he see? The man was infuriating.

The wards...twitched, a thrum of magic that caressed her own. "I have shifted the wards. You can leave from here." He nodded his head, his hair a swing of black silk. "Good day. Hermione."

"Good…?"

Her focus snapped around her and before the sob caught in her throat could escape, she committed her magic. Her last image, before she disapparated, was of narrowed black eyes—

—then she was stumbling over a plant pot in the wild stretch of garden to the back of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Her legs almost gave out, but she willed herself upright.

She'd find that bloody codex and scour every last inch of it. Something had to explain why her magic, whilst stronger, thick and heavy in her flesh, felt…tattered. Torn. Was it simply growing pains and the raw edges would soften and heal? Severus would've known…

But he couldn't get her out of his bedroom fast enough, could he?

"Hermione, caught the sun?"

Harry sat on the backstep, with a white-spotted kneazle kitten on his lap. It butted its little brown head against his negligent fingers and he scritched between its large, fur-tipped ears.

Gods, she had to look a mess if _Harry_ had noticed, and stopped her hand from covering her throat or pushing down the wildness of her hair. She deflected. "Escaping with Custard?"

"Quiet time. And it's nice to simply…sit with a cuddle-fiend like this." His mouth quirked upwards and Harry looked…happy. A man just turned nineteen. One calm and without a care in the world, except for the attention of the deeply purring kneazle kitten in his lap. Then he went and ruined it. "You'd feel less stressed if only you'd agree to Ron—"

"Stop." Her hand snapped up. "Right there. _No_. None of that today, Harry James Potter."

Harry's lips pinched together in something reminiscent of Molly Weasley. "You're leading him on."

Hermione blinked and stared at her friend. How many times _could_ a woman turn down a ginger idiot before he —and his friends and family— got it through their thick skulls that she had Ron was a _bad idea_? But she wasn't going to argue with him. Harry wanted everything neatly packaged. Him and Ginny. Her and Ron. All standing together on Platform 9 3/4s in some far distant future waving of their progeny, set on their way to Hogwarts.

And there was a glaring problem right there, wasn't it?

Hermione pushed down the fresh rise of old pain and shook her head. "No, no and thrice, no." She twitched him a sour smile. "Have fun with Custard."

"Hermione…?"

But she was past him and striding into the long, dark kitchen.

_The codex._ She had to focus on that to chase away old and new pain.

And the second attic was just has she left it the day before. Thick with dust and cobwebs, clutter and mouldy school trunks. Her nose twitched at the clogged air and she flicked a spell, cleansing her path to the hidden and warded book.

She would settle and read and find out what she had committed herself to.

Severus could turn up to the meeting. And maybe he wouldn't. But she would…cope. Move on. Fix her priorities.

She simply needed to read the codex and everything…_everything_ would be fine.

With an ease that pricked at her fingers, she lifted the wards on the dark little corner where she'd stashed the book. The tip of her wand shone bright, illuminating cracked plaster, split floorboards and silvered threads of ancient cobwebs…but no leather-backed tome.

"No…"

It was half-strangled and Hermione was on her knees, sweeping her hand over the floor, the walls, tossing aside a crate and broken toys, that whined with faded magic.

It had to be there. _It had to be_.

She had to have the written proof that the churning pain, the raw tatters of her magic would heal. That she would…

She curled over into a ball and clutched her knees, welcoming the bite of pain. He didn't want her. And she wouldn't —_wouldn't_— force herself on him. She had to be his free choice.

Now, with the book whisked away to its next victim, she wouldn't know that she'd…she'd get over him.

It was insanity to be so caught by Severus Snape. A bastard by his own admission. A thoroughly dark wizard. But funny. And Merlin, clever and quick and…and deft. Her teeth ground together. A crush and their exchange. That's all it was. It _shouldn't_ slice at her heart.

But gods, her absence from him, _hurt_.

Hermione crushed her eyes shut and let the tears fall as her heart…shattered.


	6. Chapter 6

And here's my original chapter 4. Well, half of it.

I had to go back and write the current chapter 4. Then because of that, chapter 5…and because of them, original chapter 4 became 6 _and_ 7…

Writing fanfic _does_ teach structure ;)

* * *

"Merlin's nut, will you stop!" Ron waved his hands, not hearing her gasp, or seeing her reaching out for the wall to steady herself on the dark landing of Grimmauld place. "Will you stop _disappearing_ on me!"

Hermione twitched a smile and couldn't pull out a full one. It'd been three days. Three, since she'd stood in Severus' sunlit bedroom, working up the courage to...to leave him. The ache of her torn her magic. The pain of it was raw. Still.

She cursed the vanished Earl's stolen codex. No doubt it was off to find some other poor virgin witch or wizard and make their life hell.

She rubbed the heel of her palm against her breast bone and hated the way Ron's pale gaze lingered on her chest. She held down a wince. She _had_ been hiding from him...because she was raw and miserable and very likely a coward. His push for a...something had to stop. _She_ had to stop it. Batter it into his thick skull. Though her strained nerves dreaded an exploding and sulking and grudge-bearing Ron.

"I'm not the witch you want, Ron."

There she'd said it.

She blew out a breath and twitched another smile.

He frowned at her. "What?"

"I'm easy."

He huffed and muttered something under his breath. Oh, she knew what that was. A comment on her lack of...putting out.

Her mouth pinched together and she glared at him. "Easy as in you've known me forever and I'm here...and well, I'm a bit of a challenge, aren't I? But we're not...suited." She did wince now. Her magic was in bloom, the strength of it chasing through her flesh and pricking her fingertips. It was the only worthwhile thing pulled from that blissful afternoon that would never see a repeat. "You _know_ we're not right for each other, Ron."

A deep mottling of red chased over his cheeks and spread to his neck. "So...you've just led me on?"

And…he'd been gossiping with Harry. Fuck, she had to get out of the bloody house. At least taking her NEWTs at Hogwarts was only a few days away.

"All this time. _Just playing with me_."

His voice was growing louder and Hermione fought back the mortifying need to wrap silence around their fight. It would be easier if the whole house knew about the breakup in one go. She'd be the villain, of course. She always was...but if it ended Ron's relentless pursuit and everyone else's pandering to his want, then it would be worth it.

At least, he wouldn't be demanding she fawn over him at the Order meeting that night.

"No. We've shared one kiss, Ron. One. That's not a bloody _life-time's commitment_."

His flush deepened, something thick and…guilty and Hermione caught her fingers in the wild tangles of her hair. Fuck. _Fuck_. Her instincts were right. Shit. That was what the meeting was for. Him and an audience and her inability to say no? Git. Utter git to try and force her hand that way. "Merlin, Ron, that's _low_."

"Low? _Low?"_

There was a creak on the stairs. Yes, they had an audience, just as he wanted, but not the _whole_ Order there to see her arm twisted into an unwanted betrothal.

"Low that I'd want you to have a home and a family?"

"And sitting my NEWTs? Taking an apprenticeship? Several, in fact. Applying to the Department of Mysteries? Becoming the Minister of Magic by the time I'm forty? Is that in your plan for me too?"

Ron gaped at her. "Minister? Why would you want to be the Minister of Magic? That's not a job for a w—"

"What?" She glared up at him. "A witch? _Your_ wife? The mother of the children I don't even know if I want or…or can have?"

He took a step back. "_What?_"

And now all the eavesdroppers knew about her cursed ovaries too.

But…ah, there was his push-point. A Weasley woman could _never_ be barren. The Healer who attended her after the Battle of Hogwarts had said it was _possible_ for her to conceive...but it would be difficult.

Hermione scrubbed her face and denied the burn of tears. "Are we done?"

Yes, the Healer had frowned at her and sniffed. Something disparaging, as if defeating a rampaging Dark Lord was a complete breeze. _Arse_. He'd said she'd need a powerful combination of rare magics to heal her —her heart fluttered at the memory of the rest of his clipped, unfeeling words— _and a strength that few witches held_.

Gods…

Had Severus given her this too? A bubble of laughter almost broke from her. Did it count as one of her epiphanies? And not that she was desperate for children, but to have the chance destroyed by a bat-shit crazy witch, and now, well—

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Ron broke into her scattering thoughts.

What? Why was he still talking to her? "It was private."

"It shouldn't have been private from _me!_"

Hermione rolled her neck and dug her fingers into the growing tension. Ron could have a tantrum and sulk _far_ away from her. Tomorrow, tomorrow, she'd hunt down a more open-minded and sympathetic Healer and find out what exactly was needed to fix her broken body.

She turned her sharp gaze on Ron. "Now you know. As does everyone else."

Hermione moved past him, wanting tea and to curl up before the library fireplace with a book. Find a quiet moment, let her mind, her emotions settle. She very much doubted the Order meeting would go ahead now…and would Severus have turned up if it had? He had seemed…dismissive. The rush of relief about a cure for her cursed body slipped away and the growing fear and ache of seeing him twisted her insides anew.

Ron's harsh mutter caught her as she stepped down the first stair. "You were too much work, anyway."

And that friendship was over.

Perhaps she'd mourn it later.

Perhaps not.

Git.

Creaks and mutters and the thud of boots on threadbare runners chased ahead of her as Hermione padded down the stairs. There was a loud thunk and the _thump, thump, thump_ of something hitting and bouncing across the carpet. So that meant Tonks and Remus were on time.

Hermione wiped her hands over her face, wrapped her dignity around her and stalked to the kitchen. If she was channelling Severus, she wouldn't admit it. A pot of tea and a plate of whatever was out to feed the Order, then a well-earned retreat to the library.

Murmurs floated out on the dark passage that led to the kitchen. Damn. As with any good party, people were already gathering in the kitchen.

"And do you believe Miss Granger will appreciate your…_prating_?"

_Severus_.

Gods, Merlin, Circe and all her little piggy friends.

He'd come.

Hermione pressed her fist to her chest, willing herself to breathe. To be calm. It didn't help that he was defending her against the others. She pulled in a deeper breath. The Earl's codex had found her. She was a powerful witch in the making.

And she could walk into that kitchen and get a bloody mug of tea and a plate of savoury nibbles!

She wiped her hand over her mouth to deny a burst of hysterical laughter and pushed open the kitchen door. More laughter bubbled and she bit the inside of her cheek. Everyone was frozen, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley and Professor McGonagall, caught gossiping about her. Severus stood in the shadows beside the fireplace, indolent against the wall. His black gaze found her. Something shifted in it...but she blamed that on the flicker of candlelight.

"_Properly_ Medusa, arent I?" Hermione muttered about the frozen witches and wizards, and her heart squeezed when Severus smirked at her.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Remus offered a concerned smile and beside him Tonk's hair softened to a warm blonde.

"I'm fine, just need tea, a book and the library fire." She poured from the pot, splashed milk and piled sandwiches and savoury nibbles onto a plate. "It's for the best. Ron and me not having that 'and' there. I tried not to…" She winced. "It was always going to come down to a row."

"Hermione, you know why we're here, don't you?"

Remus twitched a smile and Hermione willed herself not to look to Severus. But she could feel his black gaze on her like a brand.

"Are you sure you don't—"

"And _this_ is why we're here, is it, Wolf? To guilt a witch into an unequal marriage?"

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall snapped out his name and her lips became thin and pinched. "We are hardly—"

"Yes, I was aware of that, Professor." Hermione broke in, addressing Severus. She would not have him attacked for defending her.

A quirk of a smile pulled at Severus' mouth and his eyes shone with black fire. Gods, she wanted to kiss him…and the bloody man knew it. "I'm not your professor, girl."

"And I'm not a girl, Master Snape."

He inclined his head, his black hair falling forward in a shining curtain. "Indeed you are not." He pushed himself away from the wall. "And if this foul plan is undone, I will bid you all a good night."

Hermione's belly squeezed as she watched him stalk from the kitchen, McGonagall's muttered "Really, Severus?" following him out. He'd flirted with her, hadn't he? Gods, she was so rubbish at relationships. Not that they had a relationship. She was a shine to his magic. And gods, he had _shone_ hadn't he?

And she hadn't fixed her gaze on his arse as he left…

Heat crawled up her face and she snapped her attention back to her tea and plate. "I'd appreciate privacy. I have thinking to do."

"Of course, Hermione," Remus said, but there was something in his voice and she held back a frown. Was this another of these new and obvious things? Remus was…up to something. Gods, was this why Severus thought everyone was a complete dunderhead?

But she didn't want to dwell on whatever scheme Remus had. She'd tuck herself away in the library and her war-time wards would keep her secure.

She escaped the kitchen and a suspicious lack of sound grew behind her. Let them gossip. She wanted a quiet moment to lick her wounds by losing herself in a book. One of Ron's gifted books would give her the happy ending she ached for in her real-life. The dark wizard there _always_ wanted the prim little bookworm for himself…

She slipped into library from the ever-present darkness of the passage. A flick of a wandless _incendio_ brought a burst of bright flames to the great hearth. Yes, it truly was easier. Simply...intent and her magic flared and obeyed her every thought—

"You were always a natural with fire. I have a ruined cloak as proof."

"_Severus...?_"

His magic caught the fall of her mug and plate and whisked them to the nearby table. Golden light carved his features as he pushed out from the shadow of an alcove. Hermione stumbled and he was there, his hand on her arm, holding her steady.

The ached-for presence of him burned. Her magic surged, desperate for him—

Severus' smile was sin itself. "It is time. Again, there is much for us to discuss...Miss Granger."


	7. Chapter 7

And for the doubters... The final chapter!

* * *

"T…time?"

He lifted an eyebrow and she chewed on her bottom lip. He was…overwhelming her. Nothing, no hint of him for three whole days and…and he'd stalked out of the failed Order meeting without a backwards glance. Yet, here he was, in the library.

Her mind scattered, thoughts spinning and lost. What more could he want? Her splintered heart wouldn't let her believe that he was there for _her_. That would be too impossible—

_He was there. In the library. After the meeting._

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a slow, soft groan.

"_I_ asked for time. Stated where I would be after the Order meeting. You took that to mean…" Another deeper groan escaped her. "I'm an idiot."

His gaze narrowed. "Was that not your intention?"

Hermione let her head fall against his chest and the scent of him wrapped around her. So right. As if breathing him in was everything… The tattered ends of her magic bloomed and sought out threads of his power, curling around his core. Even as her bloody Medusa-hair chased over the wool of his coat and tangled themselves in his line of jet-carved buttons.

"I wanted to stay. With you. In you bed. Never leave."

Her heart squeezed at that quiet admission and she shut her eyes, needing to believe that was why he waited in the library for her.

"Sweet witch." His voice was a dark and rich velvet and eased over her strained nerves. "I thought you wanted time to consider what our…reactions meant." His large hand drew over her hair and urged her to look at him, even as her insane hair swept over him in wild addicted curls. "My magic is shorn. The moment you tumbled from our bed. Only now…"

"It's growing whole again."

He gave her a slow nod.

"What does it _mean_…?"

He frowned, something brief and surprised. "Our magic" —he slipped his fingers across hers, warm and sure and her hand shook— "is complementary."

A curl of his magic teased across her palm and her own swelled and rose to meet it. A shine of pure gold, twisting and turning across their threaded fingers. Breathtakingly beautiful. And heavy, so deliciously heavy with want and power.

Her heart pounded and she met his gaze, the brilliant shine of magic reflected in the endless black. "Sir…?"

"Still _sir_?" Severus drew a line along her jaw, so achingly familiar, and her eyes fluttered shut at the bliss sinking into her flesh at the return of his touch. "It means if we feed our magic only with _our_ pleasures…it will _truly_ shine."

Hermione blinked at him and found her relentless hair was curling around his wrist again. "Our… Would you even _want _this?"

"A little witch in my bed —solely mine— willing and delicious and every touch firing pleasure and spiralling power? As I've told you before, I _am_ a dark wizard, _Miss Granger_. What do you think?"

"I…"

His mouth dipped to hers, a tease of a kiss that dried her words. "This, this forming of power was what the book -through Salazar Slytherin- means to achieve."

"Was it? Is it? The book vanished. I never finished reading..." She was breathless, her focus lost. There was only the promise of more kisses, deeper kisses and maybe, perhaps, the slipping away of clothes to reveal his pale skin to the golden light of the fire.

"Ah, that explains it. You hared off to fuck me instead of finishing a book? I'm _honoured_."

She slapped his chest. "Git."

Severus smirked against her lips. "Then my proposal is acceptable?"

"Proposal…?"

No, he didn't mean that. He meant sex, lots of quite lovely sex, for the power and the magic, not…

"Yes, _that_."

Her breath was gone again. "But...but…"

He traced a gentle line over her cheek and she leant into his wanted touch. More strands of her hair bound him to her. It was certainly…persistent. "The codex's original purpose was an awakening of a magical core. It's followed that path for over a thousand years. But Salazar set a twist to catch something else. Carved the magic into the binding.

"He really was a romantic sod. In his own quite Slytherin way. Naturally."

Severus drew a line across her lip, something light, teasing. "Affinity is rare, Hermione. Magics that lock together to form a greater whole. For us so-rare few, Salazar's amended codex matches ability, character and ambitions. Everything weaves together. In perfection."

"We're...we're _perfect_ for each other?"

"As unlikely as it seems, yes."

"Not...unlikely."

Severus' dark eyes gleamed and his mouth parted, a soft "ah" escaping him. "That explains your delight with 'Miss Granger'. And it would be wicked of me to ask how long you have been…interested." He leant in, his lips at her ear. She stopped breathing, her heart a tight drum, fast and shallow. Gods, she adored his voice and his willingness to play to her fantasies. "But I am so _very_ wicked, aren't I, Miss Granger? So..._how long-_?"

"Mione, they said… I thought… You need it explained—"

Ron burst into the library and stumbled to a stop. His face was a burn of sudden and mottled red.

Shit. She'd meant to ward the room against him, but Severus had distracted her.

"This? Him? Was he why you said you couldn't, why you wouldn't— Making up...things. Merlin, Mione, have you…_with him_?"

Severus stepped back from her and she missed his warmth. Damn Ron. But Severus' hand reminded wrapped around hers, his magic threading around her magical core in a perfect blending of powers.

Severus lifted a dark eyebrow. "Yes, Mr Weasley. Has Hermione Granger slept with me?" He leant in and Ron reared back. His smile was wicked. A true devil. "To tell the _absolute_ truth —and we must _always_ be truthful, must we not, Mr Weasley?— there was no _sleeping _to be had. It was a _thorough_ and quite…_debauched_ experience."

Hermione groaned and scrubbed at her face. Damn the man. He really was a git at times. Most of the time. Fuck it, _all_ of the time. But taunting Ron meant that _Ron would not leave_. "Severus…"

"_Severus?_ You call him...?"

"You prefer she call me _Professor_? My, your tastes are surprisingly…twisted, Mr Weasley."

Ron was edging to purple. "And this scarecrow is your choice? Him? _Snape?_ He's a bastard. And that you'd _lie_ about having _children_ to avoid me. And _you_ said_ I_ was 'low' for trying to give you a simple surprise—"

"I didn't lie. Mad Bella cursed me. And an unwanted marriage proposal is not a _simple surprise_, Ronald."

"You need a family, Mione. You're by yourself. They explained it. You need a bind to our world."

She frowned at him. "What...?"

Severus swore, something quick and definitely filthy. In Persian. "Whose idea was this?" It was a growl and Ron's chin jerked up, his face flushed and belligerent. "Your mother's? And she presented her hand-wringing case to the most sympathetic senior members of the Order. Namely Remus and Minerva."

Hermione blinked. _What…? _What was going on?

Severus looked to her, his magic a balm to her straining nerves. "An ancient law. Long ignored. But if brought to light, old spells bloom and trap the witch. _Sui Iuris_."

Hermione frowned. "Self management under the law?"

Severus fixed a narrowed glare on Ron's mottled face. "A twist of a curse from Roman Law. For you to be legally independent in the wizarding world, ironically, Hermione, you must be tied to a family."

"But…shouldn't that be something they would discuss _with me_?" Her mouth pressed into a tight line and she joined in glaring at Ron. "Let me guess, your mother sold it to Remus and the Headmistress that I'd act as a muggleborn? That I'd rail against yet another example of a misogynistic wizarding world." She shook her head. "When _you_ were playing just that. Trapping me. Why?"

"Trapping you?" Ron spat out the words. "Trapping...? What's wrong with you, Mione? What's _he_ done to you? I didn't even know about this bloody sooie-thing. We're meant. Like Harry and Ginny. From the beginning."

She lifted an eyebrow, too aware that she was mirroring Severus…and that the git was smirking. "Oh, from the _very_ beginning? When you called me a nightmare?"

Ron tried one of his earnest, comforting smiles. He simply looked constipated. "Come to the kitchen. Talk to us. All of us. You need to understand that we just want to protect you."

He put out his hand, expecting her to take it. And frowned when she stepped closer to Severus. The wash of that wizard's magic eased the riot of anger growing in her chest. She was not some simpering idiot. She was Hermione _fucking_ Granger. And she had everything she wanted in a wizard —right there beside her.

"Who exposed me to this cursed law?"

Ron ignored her question. "They, the Order, didn't want you worried about it if you found a way out. And you have. With me. Simple. But turning me down? That's insane. You won't get another offer, Mione." He glared at Severus. "_He_ won't offer that."

"Who? Who exposed me?"

She bit out the questions. Ron's ears were burning and his gaze darted away. Severus had divined the truth. Molly had set up the old law. Why? To trap her for her son? To make it impossible for her to function in the wizarding world _without_ a bind to a wizarding family.

_And oh look, here's a convenient ginger idiot waiting for you right there…_

Ron clenched his hands at his sides. "So, I asked my mum for help with making you mine, Mione? So what? This sooie-thing could've caught you at _any_ time."

"Yes, a centuries' old law, hardly remembered." Severus' his voice low and edged with anger. "Tell me, Mr Weasley, how often _have_ Prewett women caught superior and _reluctant_ witches for their gaggles of sons?"

Ron lifted his chin and ignored him. "Are you coming, Mione?"

Hermione's lip curled. "Yes. Quite soon. And not with you."

Ron blinked and his face flared a scorching red. He gaped at her, before turning on Severus. "You…you made her—"

"Why _are_ you so eager for Miss Granger's hand, Mr Weasley?"

Severus lifted an infamous eyebrow and Ron's jaw clenched.

"We're right. Everyone says so. My Mione is clever, practical, knows her magic. She's loyal. She'll make a good wife and mother."

"And when her bloom is worn away in caring for you and your…spawn?"

Severus' hand tightened briefly around hers, a tacit request to remain calm as they discussed her as if she were…chattel. And was that what Ron truly thought of her? No hint of their years' old friendship. No offer of _loving_ her? Everything arranged and practical and convenient for him.

What in Merlin's name had _he_ read in her 'kissing' books?

A fresh flush darkened Ron's cheeks and a flicker of guilt chased through his blue eyes.

"You'd follow the _traditional_ wizarding path, would you?"

Ron's face grew redder. "So? It's what's done. A wizard has needs—"

And her former-friend flew through the air, a surge of fierce magic churning around him, sinking into this flesh, sprouting boils and horns and fins and fixing his skin to a slimed iridescent green. He crashed to the floor beside the door with a half-strangled wail. Twitching. Oozing. Stinking.

Hermione sucked in a heavy breath, the flow of her wild rush of magic easing back. Fuck..._fuck_.

Well, that was…unexpected.

But to hear not only was she the practical option, but that he'd take mistresses as she toiled away? The sudden fresh surge of rage to ash. Her heart squeezed. Was…was that what traditional wizards _did_? She shot a glance to Severus and he raised her knuckles to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses there.

He shook his head. "I would _never_, sweet witch."

Her chest bloomed and she wanted nothing more than to be away —far away— from that dreary bloody house and people who though they knew what was best for her.

Hermione glared at the chimera that was Ronald Weasley. St Mungo's would sort him out. Probably. Possibly… "You can inform those gathered to hear a proposal, that I have accepted one. I am betrothed. To Severus Snape."

She turned a treacle smile on to her chosen wizard and he snorted.

Ron gaped at her. He scrabbled back —using fins and one of his three tails— as his gaze flicked to the dark wizard.

"Do not anger this _particular_ witch, Mr Weasley. That is the lesson you should've learned down the years." Severus' smirk was something wicked and caught Hermione's breath, and had Ron up on his flippers and waddling for the door. "Alas, your skull has always been quite…thick."

"Insane. You're insane, Mione. Gods to do _this!_" He flailed his fins and flippers. "And to want…_that_!"

And Ron slammed the library door. Hermione flicked her wards over it and Severus hummed his approval. The flare of his own magic traced over her spells, wove and complemented and the touch of his magic was…bliss.

Hermione stared up at her wizard. "_Am_ I insane?"

"Yes. Quite."

She snorted.

Severus drew her too him and it was a relief to her strained nerves. His warmth, his magic, his scent, woodsy…and under it, something fresher, something spring-like. "Oh, oh!" She met his gaze in disbelief, trembling fingers tracing over the hard plane of his jaw. "Your scent. You're _my_ scent. My armotentia…"

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Naturally."

Hermione huffed at him. "Git."

"As you say."

She let herself be enfolded in his arms, content to rest her head against his chest and to find a little hit of pure bliss in the golden firelight. Severus pressed his face to the wild tumult that was her wizard-loving hair and allowed their magic to weave, and push, to meld and grow, melding into a bright and shining power that belonged to both of them. This was her life now. Her future. Sure and powerful. With her a man who would dance on her last nerve...but gods, neither she nor life would be dull or grey or _ordinary_.

"Did Salazar know this? This…affinity?"

Severus let out a peeved sigh and she smiled against the wool of his coat. "Become used to questions, Severus. I'm not going to stop."

His soft laughter eased through her. "It would be impossible, wouldn't it? And yes, though he was old by then. His witch, like him, had been sought out by the codex years before. It was sheer luck for them to find each other at all." He lifted his head and frowned at the door. "Shall we adjourn to somewhere less…dreary?"

He'd felt it too. Numerous magics worked against their interwoven wards, trying to break into the sealed space. The idea of facing the order was…onerous. She'd had a shitty few days and she wanted only pleasure. The world outside could wait just that little bit longer before she had to deal with it.

"Take me to your bed, Severus."

"Commanding me, madam? Are you practicing _already_ to be Minister for Magic?"

She lifted an eyebrow, mimicking him. "Do I have a _rival_, Severus?"

"Far from it. I hear the Minister's consort receives a very generous stipend." He smirked at her. "I plan to be the very epitome of a pampered trophy-wizard."

This was Severus Snape. Would be content to be the wizard on the sidelines, when so much power was there for him to twist and corrupt?

"_Liar_."

"Would I lie to you?"

Her fingers slid over the placket of his trousers and she cupped his impressive length. His black eyes gleamed and he hardened under her firm touch.

"Not if you value…this."

His fingers threaded through her hair and he tipped her head up. His mouth brushed hers. "Very good," he murmured. "A little crude, but a credible threat. Though, we will have to work on less...physical forms of extortion and blackmail for your rivals." His kiss was soft and slow. "Only our pleasures, Hermione."

"No touching other wizard's bits?"

"Or witches."

"Yes, that goes for both of us."

"A vindictive and power-hungry harpy? Gods, girl, why would I _want_ anyone else but you? You're…perfection."

Her heart swelled at his declaration and she licked his upper lip in a quick tease. "Not a girl."

"Gods, no."

And as he deepened the kiss, and members of the Order of the Phoenix tumbled into the library, Severus spun them away in an obnoxiously loud crack of thunder.

Git.

Oh…but _her_ git.

* * *

There might be a follow up, or at least an epilogue to this in the future, but I'm making it complete for now.

I need to get o-fic written now though, as I need _every_ meagre penny. Self-pubbing is a bitch ;-)


End file.
